Domestic Tension
by truebie1989
Summary: Harley and the Joker have a particularly bad fight when Harley asks him whether she's put on weight. Her dress won't fit. How can he remedy that? Sorry for my english.


Hi all, sorry I am back with another one-shot. Merci for being so kind, hope you come to like this one. I am sorry for any errors or written mistakes too.

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 **Domestic Tension**

"Puddin'?" Harley's shrill, panicked voice floated out from in the bathroom. "Puddin', I think there's something seriously wrong here."

J groaned under his breath from where he was, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, playing with his 'toys' as he liked to do on quiet days such as this, when the club was closed for the mornings and when him and his Harley had some alone time to themselves. She'd vanished into the bathroom over twenty minutes ago and he hadn't heard from her since until now.

Intersected on the frayed yellow carpet around him was his toys that he liked to polish and reassemble back together; His semiautomatic machine guns, cartridges, Harley's revolver, his blades. While other men liked to play with actual toys; kid-stuff like model buildings and train-tracks, J was all for his weapons.

He made another noise while trying to concentrate on buffing Harley's revolver into a shiny gleam. Only for her, he'd do this. Only for her.

"Puddin'?" she called again shakily. "Puddin', it's just... not... working." He heard her growl and moan in frustration, in despair. "I just don't get what the problem is here? I mean, it's only been a week since I last put it on. So why's it not fitting now, huh?"

He started the countdown mentally inside his head, a smile coming across his lips while he was careful not to laugh out loud. To laugh would cause a thunderstorm of fury from her. She had her moments like this; typical women moments, he assumed. Hormonal tantrum moments.

Most of the time, J found it was smarter to stay out of her way until she got over it. Only staying out of her way was next impossible when she brought him into it, getting him involved like she was now.

 _Three, two, one... Here we go._

"Damn it!" A loud banging noise as she screamed. "Stupid!" She was hitting things again, just like he knew she would. He could picture her so vividly, even all the way from where he sat in the other room; Her white gleaming teeth gritting, her eyes creasing as she used her hand to slap at a wall or a mirror, whatever was closest and nearest within reach and in sight to take her frustration out on. Sometimes she even took her anger out on him, kicking him or shaking him aggressively though that was on the rarest of occasions. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Then something next happened, something J hadn't heard from his Queen in awhile. Soft mewling sounds came from her, crying noises. He hadn't heard his Harley get this worked up in quite some time.

It just wasn't working, and she couldn't understand why.

No matter how hard she attempted to yank the fabric down, no matter how vigorously she pulled, no matter how hard she tried to suck her stomach in, hold her breath, her dress wasn't budging.

Harley had only just worn the stupid thing last week to the club and now, she couldn't even get it below her hips. Her eyes welled with moisture as she stepped back to look at her figure in the floor-length bathroom mirror again, trying to see herself clearly through the Ha Ha writing her Puddin' had scrawled and graffitied all over it when he had been in one of his bored moods.

She grabbed at the material that hung around her stomach again, attempting one last time to wrench it down past her thighs. She ended up waving her hands at her sides helplessly, giving up. It was just no good and she would end up ruining it otherwise, and she had always liked the dress; It being one of the more comfortable, easy ones to wear. She could tell her Puddin' had always been particularly fond of the way she looked in the dress, also.

And now it just wasn't fitting.

Turning on her side, she scrutinized her tattooed, pale thighs in the mirror, her stomach. Had she maybe put on some weight? Surely she couldn't have. Her Puddin' certainly hadn't mentioned anything about her looking a bit more 'pudgy' than normal. It always paid to get a second opinion, and who better, than your significant other? The main loved one in your life?

After all, he would probably be a better gauge at telling whether she'd gotten a little rounder or not, considering he was the main person that saw her naked on a daily basis.

Curling both arms around the lower half of her exposed belly, she padded barefooted out of the bathroom, the frayed carpet soft and fluffy against her toes. She found her Puddin' in his element, both long legs outstretched while he was splayed out on his back, messing around, polishing his blades with a rag. He held two pocketknives in a fist close up to his face while he used the rag to swipe old crusty bits of blood off the edges of the blade, the task seeming to capture his full attention.

Sometimes he could be like a big kid and it frustrated her. They lived together, and yet Harley was always the one to do the cooking and cleaning. Usually she didn't mind that, providing for her Puddin', but afterwards, it was always frustrating when he threw plates and bowls at the walls out of some thoughtless whim instead of actually properly doing the dishes after she'd slaved away, making his favorite dinner for him.

Whenever Harley attempted to do a bit of spring-cleaning, it didn't take long for her Puddin' to mess everything up again. She had only just vacuumed the carpet that morning and now, there he was, toys and ammunition everywhere, making a mess again.

Harley was in such a distracted, depressed state that she could hardly bring herself to feel grateful when she saw that he had taken the time to polish her gun for her.

Irritation surged within her as she stared at him while he hummed deeply, cleaning his blades with such care and precision, as if they were delicate babies. Pity he couldn't treat the porcelain dishes the same way. Pity he couldn't stop making the house into a pigsty after she'd cleaned it up. Resentment bubbled in her chest as she folded her arms, standing over him.

With him, it was always so easy, wasn't it? He always got off scot-free, winning every argument they had merely by flashing one of his smiles at her. He never had to do any housework. All he had to do was take care of his guns, of the club, while Harley did all the rest, slaving away to please him.

She had moments like this where she got angry at him- moments that she assumed every couple experienced now and again. Resentful moments, where she wished he would start putting some work into it so that they could be equal partners. Paving his way. Doing his equal share of housework, of contributing.

And now she couldn't even fit into one of her favorite dresses and yet, there he was, having the time of his life without a worry in the world, in lying there on the floor lengthwise, polishing his 'babies'. Harley could have sworn that her Puddin' had a bigger appetite than she did. He ate more meals than she did, particularly after killing and getting into one of his excited moods. So how come she was the one having trouble fitting into her clothes?

"Puddin'?" she snapped at last, swinging her left foot forward. She smashed her ankle into his shin to get his attention and he made a disgruntled noise, his gaze flitting up to her. Harley knew he loathed being distracted from his playtime, but tough. "Puddin', can ya be careful with the carpet please? I just vacuumed it this morning and now ya getting it all dirty again!"

"Hmm?" He made a low disorientated moaning noise as he glanced around his body and at all of the weapons surrounding him, searching for any marks on the carpet that classified as 'getting it dirty'. He couldn't see anything at all. "What ya talking about, honey? I can't see no-"

"- Puddin', be honest with me. Have I put on some weight these past few days?"

It took J a moment to get his head screwed back on correctly. Sometimes, when he was left alone like this to his own devices, playing with his toys, he'd get lost in all the visions and fantasies; the memories of slashing throats and gouging out eyeballs. He peered up at his Harley girl again, and his eyes almost fell out of their sockets, it felt like.

The way he was angled on the floor and the way Harley was standing above him, it presented him the perfect sight of up her dress. To be fair, the dress wasn't exactly _on_ her, but he still appreciated the sight. The creaminess and tightness of her porcelain skin, the tattoos up her muscular thighs and around her ankles- some he had even done to her himself. He made a deep rumbling noise in appreciation, marveling her. None could affect his libido quite the way his Harley girl did, and the sight got him revving; He could feel a particular place swelling and itching due to all the excitement with the way she was standing directly above him, at that angle, her bright red underwear peeking through.

 _Daddy had come home._

Harley saw the way his eyes went all hazy and misty, his pasty face slackening with what she had come to learn well and truly now as his look of arousal. In other circumstances, she might have felt flattered. It may have even gotten her in the mood right along with him, but not now. Not now, with how she was feeling, so insecure and worried over her weight and the fact that she couldn't even squeeze into her dress like she normally could.

Trust her Puddin' to not take her seriously. The fact that he was reacting the way he was now, his breathing turning heavy through his metal teeth, it upset her more than anything else in the world. He wasn't taking her concerns seriously.

"Jesus, Puddin'," she muttered, striking him with her foot again in chastisement. "I'm asking you a question and ya never taking me seriously! Sometimes I'm not even sure why I bother with ya!"

His forehead creased in confusion as she stalked away out of the room, then his head whirled as the bedroom door slammed. _Women. Always so short-fused and easily emotional._ Sometimes he despised the way he was; Harley truly tested him at times. It was particularly difficult when she made him feel emotionally stunted, especially in times such as this. He didn't know what she expected from him or what emotional reaction she wanted him to display for her, no less.

Shouldn't the mere fact that she had gotten him horny at the sight of her been a compliment enough? And what was all that crap, about her putting on weight? Usually his Harley girl didn't care about silly things like her weight. She must be ovulating or something; that could be the only explanation for her erratic, weird mood right now.

He returned to meticulously cleaning his toys for a few minutes. Then the silence became irritating. It just wasn't the same when he knew his girl was in the bedroom, all huffy-puffy with him. Chucking his toys aside, he grumbled to himself as he sat up, pushing himself up onto his feet. He had to fix it and make it better, and yet he didn't know how.

This was probably the biggest fight they'd had ever since he'd gotten her back from Belle Reve. It was sheer bliss and murder and laughter for over two months and now, there they were, having their first real fight in months.

Harley splayed out on the double-bed, her head in her hands, her legs up in the air as she kicked at the mattress now and then in frustration. Her Puddin' just didn't get it sometimes. She thought she was upset and angry when she slammed the bedroom door, but those feelings had intensified the instance she saw how he had strewn the bed-sheets around the room messily and had stabbed one of their decorative pillows. Now the floor was littered with bits of cushion fluff and stuffing. What made it most aggravating was that Harley had only just made the bed that morning and, even with something like a neatly made bed, her Puddin' apparently just couldn't resist temptation to mess it up.

Living with Mr. J, being housemates and attempting to live as normally domestic as possible, it was seriously tough work.

She was fuming as she plucked at a piece of pillow stuffing, tearing it apart with her fingers as she kicked at the bed again. A thumping noise came from the bedroom door. Probably her Puddin' kneeing it just for the sake of doing it. Then another thump, and his laughter, muffled through the wood. But his laughter was a mingled mixture of both frustration and pain. The sound of it alone made Harley feel confident that he had headbutted the door with his forehead now.

 _Always her Puddin'..._

Despite his behavior, she couldn't help softening up at the sound of his laughter. A smile threatened to pull up her lips despite how blisteringly hot with anger she felt. No matter how angry she was or frustrated with him, his laughter would always diminish her anger just a little.

With one last banging noise, she heard him come into the room, his feet shuffling against the floor. She deliberately turned her head the opposite way, avoiding him when her Puddin' flung himself half onto Harley, then half on the bed, his legs hitting the back of hers. The mattress depressed beneath their added weight when he pushed his groin against her backside, his pale hands on either side of her. She was determined to follow through on her silent treatment, no matter what it took.

A hoarse grunting-growl left him as she felt him rub his chin and the side of his face against her bare shoulder-blade closest to him, as if he was her pet cat and he was coaxing her into both forgiving him and tenderly petting him. It took her everything she was worth not to just give in and crack and crumble. She grabbed a few bits of stuffing, clenching them in both hands for something to hold onto, something to give her strength and solidify her resolve.

"Ya know... I hate this," his voice was guttural and tender, and she tried her best not to shiver when she felt him press his lipstick colored mouth into her skin. He parted his lips, his tongue lashing at her in a way that almost made her moan. Harley always had a particular weakness for when he used his warm tongue on her, and now he was using that knowledge to his advantage. "I hate when ya mad at me."

She stubbornly stared at the wall. Anything, but her Puddin', because she knew one look at him, and she'd be an instant goner.

"Just go away, Puddin'," she mumbled under her breath tartly. "Ya really hurt me." Harley felt her throat grow thick and tight, her eyes stinging with building tears. She couldn't believe she was actually going to be a baby and have a cry over it, but when it came to things like her body... It was something sensitive, something serious, and he never showed her respect in treating her concerns seriously. "Ya never even took me seriously when I asked the question, ya just thinking of yourself all the time." She scowled at the stuffing she was yanking apart between her fingers. "I wanna wear this dress tonight and now I can't, 'cause the stupid thing won't even fit me anymore."

"Then why don't ya just pick out another dress to wear, hmm?"

She huffed at his tone, at how patronizing he sounded. Well, it seemed to her that he was being patronizing, anyway. White hot flashes of rage and hurt coursed through her.

"Then, lookie here! Problem solved!"

He nuzzled his nose into her shoulder, then used his tongue, licking at her again, leaving wet patches of saliva on her. It pushed her over the edge then.

 _Problem solved? Problem solved?_

"Just get off me and away from me, Puddin'!" In all her fury, she lashed out, shoving him back and away from her. She'd never been so mean to him before, so rough. He fell back on his side, the springs on the mattress creaking awfully. Then she drew her hand back, only to bring it down, smacking him on the chest. Her eyes were that blurry that she couldn't make out the expression on his face. "I'm sick of you! I really, really am! Ya like a little kid who keeps making a mess every single time I try to clean up, and all ya care about is making a mess and screwing everything up!"

Previous annoyances he had committed that she had been mindful to keep to herself were now creeping up.

"It's no wonder we're not normal! I know I don't care much for normal, but we can't even have a normal domestic life together when all ya wanna do is mess up the house! Look at all the walls, for goodness sake! All the crap you've written all over them! Ya better just get outta here and leave me alone, ya useless imbecile!"

It was only when her Puddin' punched the mattress barely inches near her arm roughly, threateningly, then stormed out of the room, that Harley realized how overboard she'd gone with it all.

She was so cruel just then, and her Puddin' hadn't deserved to be treated like that. He was right; She could always just wear another one of her dresses. It didn't matter if she'd put on a little weight and had gone up a dress size. Puddin' hadn't seemed to care either way, and he still was very much interested in being with her sexually- if his look had been telling enough. Plus, she had plenty of other dresses that would have fit her just as nicely.

She knew she'd really hurt him, and now he probably wouldn't want to come home anymore.

Regret pierced through her heart as tears trickled down her cheeks. "Puddin'?" she called out hopefully, hoping he'd just retreated from the room to give her some space to get over her temper tantrum. Hopefully he was just back doing what he was doing before, playing with his toys. "Puddin', come back in here." When he didn't answer, she shot up off the bed, striding out towards the living room, hugging her chest in order to console herself. "Puddin', I'm sorry and I didn't mean it all that much!"

Her apology fell to deaf ears as she glanced around the room, at all his toys lying on the ground. Her eyes landed on her gun, at how newly polished and brand-spanking-new it looked. She inched toward it, sinking low on her haunches, picking it up. She remembered complaining to him a few days before, about how greasy and stained her gun was with fingerprints and blood. She turned it over with her fingers, inspecting it. And now, it was shiny and new, in pristine condition again.

She knew how hard and long it took her Puddin' usually to get the guns looking good again. How time-consuming it was, how meticulous he had to be with his rubbing. Usually it took some serious elbow grease and he'd be there for hours and hours, wiping the guns down obsessively. And when she looked at all his other 'toys', at how most of them were still grotty and fingerprint-smeared, her heart broke all over again at how she had treated him as a sob tore through her teeth.

He'd made sure to clean her gun first, before all of his. He put _her gun_ first.

Her Puddin' wasn't a man of many affectionate words, but he showed it often in his actions, on just how much he did care for her. In every look, in every kiss, touch. In all the ways he held doors open for her, in all the ways he made it his personal mission to assault and kill anybody who ever disrespected her or merely even said a mere harsh word about her. Even when somebody sent a leering look her way, her Puddin' was always straight onto them like an unleashed dog, barking for blood.

"Puddin'?" she murmured again, already knowing it was futile. He was gone. He'd left after her callous words. Would he be coming back home tonight? Would he still be slipping into bed beside her, reeking of murder and gunfire despite all that she'd said? Would he still laugh and tell her a story of something that had happened that night, explaining in vivid, gory detail what had occurred? Or had she said too much? Had she pushed him away for good?

They'd had their fights now and then, as she assumed every regular couple did. Fights that resulted in either her leaving or him leaving; Sometimes after some bruising and bloody knuckles from hitting things. Usually, when she left, all it took was some sweet-talking on her Mr. J's part or a kiss and smile emoji for her to come on rushing back home. But with her Puddin', he'd stay out late and wouldn't come home until late hours of the morning, decorated with the stench of alcohol and blood. He'd make her beg and cry until she felt all dried up of tears.

Would he decide to stay out late tonight after everything she'd said? Would he stay at the club and drink himself silly?

She heard a loud cars engine furiously roaring from outside, lights scanning in and reflecting through the living room window. A glimmer of hope settling in her chest, Harley stood, scampering to look outside the window.

Another sob left her when she saw her Puddin' climbing out of his purple sports car, a gun in one hand and what looked like a pile of women's garments in the other. He'd come back. She hadn't pushed him away for good, after all!

Grinning in relief through her tears, she scrambled towards the front door, waiting for him as she leaned against it with her back. Once he arrived, her Puddin' paused from his fast, determined strides in the corridor, meeting her gaze, an irritated growl tearing through his gritted, silver teeth, a frenzied, shining spark to his eyes. It was a look he got whenever he did something illegal. She knew he'd done something illegal and dangerous then in the short moments where he'd stormed out of the apartment due to their argument; Probably in order to cool himself down and blow off some steam.

"Don't say Daddy don't do nothing for ya." He shook the clothes out to her meaningfully with a sigh, hurling them at the floor in the doorway. Dresses.

"Ya got all these dresses? Are they all for me?"

"What do ya think, nincompoop?" He gave her a look. "'Course they are."

He'd gone out and gotten multiple dresses for her- probably even stole them and had held up the store with his gun, considering the price-tags were still attached to them.

"Aww, Puddin'!" Another stabbing of remorse and deep guilt shot through her at what she'd said and he'd done, all due to that, and she brought both hands up, cupping her mouth with them as another sob left her, the tears sliding down her cheeks. "I thought ya were so mad that you were never gonna come back!"

She wasn't sure if this demonstration meant that he had forgiven her entirely, but Harley decided to take her chances. She kicked off into a run, prancing briskly down the carpeted hallway, light on her toes, curling her arms around his shoulders. She trampled over the dresses carelessly as she did so. The dresses didn't matter. All that mattered, truly, was her Puddin'. When The Joker tossed his gun at the wall and slid his arms around her waist, returning her embrace while pressing his lips to the crease in the side of her neck, Harley knew she was definitely forgiven then. She gave out a wet laugh as she nestled her chin into the fabric of his jacket tenderly.

"I... I'm so sorry, Puddin'! I don't know what's getting into me lately!" She lifted her hands, cupping his cool face in them, forcing him to meet her eyes, staring into them so he knew she meant what she was saying and was being honest. Then she tilted her head forward until their foreheads touched, closing her eyes. "I'll try to stop getting shitty all because I'm the one doing all the housework around here. And I never meant to call ya useless and an imbecile, I swear! I just get so... emotional lately, and I know I've put on some weight."

Puddin' opened his mouth to talk, but Harley pressed her fingertips to his lips quickly.

"Ssh, ya don't need to pretend, I know it."

"Oh, added weight or not..." Puddin' lowered his head, putting his mouth near her ear as Harley felt him run one eager, open hand down her back to where her dress got caught around her stomach, his fingers catching at the material, tugging, "I hope ya know these clothes are coming off, baby." His voice was a croon, a purr of need.

Harley giggled as he moved his head back to look at her, that familiar slackened, loose-jawed look of arousal on his face that she knew all too well. "Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah." He breathed in deeply, nodding twice eagerly. "And," he paused deliberately, a gleaming smile spreading across his mouth, "I know a way to get that dress off ya quite quickly."

"Yeah?" Harley arched her brows at him doubtfully; The dress felt stuck to her, and impossible to get up or off her waist. It was claustrophobic, the thought of never being able to get it off. "What ways that, Puddin'?"

"This way." He reached into his jacket pocket, finding something. Then with a click, he had his pocketknife open and bared to her, the blade shining.

Harley couldn't help giggling at his creativeness, and her Puddin' laughed too while he gripped the bottom of the dress. Holding the blade below it, it barely needed any pressure to cut through the seam. With one whooshing and flicking motion, the too-tight, stuck dress was split into two, the fabric falling to the floor. He was so proud of himself as he closed up his knife and tucked it back into his jacket pocket, and as a cold drought in the hallway made Harley shiver due to her being exposed, she realized she was proud of him too.

Without warning him, Harley jumped up, and he caught her instinctively, a hoarse moan tearing through his mouth as he held his forehead pressed into hers. Her legs curled around him, her ankles digging into his back as she wrapped her arms around his neck with another giggle, then she lifted one of her hands, raking her fingers through the little soft green hairs on the nape of his neck.

After everything that had happened in a short amount of time, all the emotions, all the drama, now that everything seemed resolved between them, Harley felt so much better. He'd come back to her. He hadn't left her for good, and he'd only just, in all his rage, held a store at gunpoint to get dresses for her.

"How about we try never to fight ever again, Puddin'," she said softly. "Or, if we do... that you'll always come back to me afterwards, no matter what I say or how terrible I'm being. We got a deal, huh?"

"Oh, I'm afraid ya can't get rid of me that easily." He started carrying her back into the apartment slowly, and Harley clenched her legs around him, her heels this time digging into his backside through his trousers. Back inside their apartment, he kicked the door shut with his shoe blindly. "No, unfortunately..." His mouth moved to her ear again, and he opened his mouth, nipping at her with his teeth, making Harley gasp and shudder. "Unfortunately ya stuck with me, baby."

She slid her hands around to the front of his chest, before beginning to work the buttons of his shirt undone with her fingers. It was hard with her fingernails, but once she managed, she bent down, latching on with the seal of her lips, sucking around his pale, tattooed chest. "So I'm stuck with ya, Puddin'?" she murmured into his skin. "Is that what you think?"

"Yeah, that's... right." He laughed, breathlessly, tauntingly. She could tell where she was kissing was effecting him. "Ya belong to me." She knew it wouldn't be long now, and she was right.

Her Puddin' had a weakness for being licked and suckled at, and she felt his knees buckle. They fell seconds later, Harley's back landing on a few of his toys painfully while he landed with his knees on each side of her, her legs still hooked around him, ankles digging in. As Harley shoved her hand downwards between them, locating his groin through his trousers, he laughed again, an aroused, startled laugh.

She didn't mind at all the idea of belonging to him. And when she thought about it, she knew he was right. She truly did. Just like he belonged to her.

 _Hope you enjoyed, merci and sorry if my English isn't so good, this is practice for me while sharing my love for this pair. I know some see them as abusive relations, particularly in comics, but the Joker and Harley in Suicide Squad I don't see it as much. So this is a little sweet as I see them that way from the film. :)_


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